


Coming Home

by Anonymous



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, speedrunning fanfiction lets go, they are best friends still your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: ‘Home.’ He let the word roll over his tongue, testing its weight, its honesty, its integrity. He was finally back, seated on a crooked bench built a lifetime ago by young, inexpert hands. And before him, great swaths of redwood trees and hills that sloped and rose like woolen green cloth. Every tree, every rock and hole and cliff, he knew in that blurred, nostalgic way, like a friend lost long ago. Why then, he wondered, did he still feel something missing? Why couldn’t he fall asleep?ORMusic discs, what makes a home, and forgiveness
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Kudos: 28
Collections: Anonymous





	Coming Home

The sun had just dipped below the horizon of L’Manberg, thick streaks of red dripping down soft grass hills and painting the wooden paths amber, and Tommy felt like the only person in the world. 

He was seated at the wooden bench, pulled from the bed he’d just won back by sleeplessness and a sense of dire necessity, like something vital would slip from his grasp if didn’t visit that old bench on the hilltop. He’d slipped quietly out of his house, and with a learned wariness turned the doorknob before closing it to soften the sound of his departure. 

The bottom edge of the sun was just beginning to gleam against the darkened silhouettes of the faraway hills, and in the distance, Tommy could still hear the comfortable chatter of the other citizens. Or, perhaps they were his friends, since they’d come to save him and Tubbo. But the term ‘friend’ didn’t sound right to him anymore. There was something cold and dishonest about it. It made his stomach turn. 

He walked silently down the path, feeling the weight of his shoes fall comfortably onto planks of wood softened by hundreds of journeys across it. Ahead was the bench. He approached it, and with a grunt of discomfort, sat down. The sting of Dream’s sword would go away, though. Tommy smiled grimly. After all the damage he’d done, Dream would never hurt anyone again. And maybe one day, he’d even leave Tommy’s nightmares. 

He let out a weak laugh. ‘Home.’ He let the word roll over his tongue, testing its weight, its honesty, its integrity. He was finally back, seated on a crooked bench built a lifetime ago by young, inexpert hands. And before him, great swaths of redwood trees and hills that sloped and rose like woolen green cloth. Every tree, every rock and hole and cliff, he knew in that blurred, nostalgic way, like a friend lost long ago. Why then, he wondered, did he still feel something missing? Why couldn’t he fall asleep? 

A noise beside Tommy startled him. He turned around and saw Tubbo standing with one hand on the backrest of the bench. Tubbo wore a small, worn smile, and he tilted his head slightly as if to ask for permission. Tommy nodded, and Tubbo sat down beside him quietly. The sun dipped below the hills, and the soft singing of crickets filled the air. 

They sat there for what could have been an hour or less than a minute, accompanied only by the sounds of night and each other, before Tubbo made a movement. He pulled out a bag and began to unzip it, so carefully that Tommy wondered if Tubbo thought he would accidentally scare him with even the sound of a zipper. Then, he reached inside and pulled out a gleaming disc with a green ring at the center. 

For a moment, he seemed lost for words, but then began to speak hesitantly. “I… I know it’s not your disc, but uhm..” He held the disc out toward Tommy, his eyes downcast. “If you want to play something… now that we’re here.” 

Tommy’s chest grew tight. He felt as though the air around him, cooled by night though it was, was burning into his skin and stealing every chance of coherence from him. All he managed to say was a soft “Oh.”  
As soon as he responded, Tubbo flinched and began to pull the disc away, and Tommy almost gasped out as he leaned forward to accept it. With shaking hands, he walked over to the jukebox and inserted it gently inside. 

He sat back down, and slowly, the humming of the crickets began to be overlaid with music. With each note, warmth seemed to seep into his body, crawling up his legs and down his face into his chest. The grassy hills before him thrummed with life. 

Beside him, Tommy heard a quiet, choked sound. “What–” he asked, turning around. He froze. Tubbo’s arm was raised to cover his face, but his whole body was shaking. 

“Tubbo–” he began in a trembling voice. 

“–I’m sorry,” Tubbo said again, his voice breaking on the last word. He gasped. “I’m so, so, so, sorry that I turned against you and left you and let Dream trick me, and I’m sorry that I’ve always been such a pushover and a doormat and I listened to the one person that wanted to hurt everyone just like I listened to Schlatt and Wilbur, and I’m sorry that I was the president and I still could never protect you or _anyone–_ ” 

He was cut off as Tommy leaned forward and hugged him tightly. And finally, there was something in his chest other than that cold, apathetic nothing. “I’m sorry too,” Tommy choked out. “I never considered you or anyone when I did things.” It started with the burning of a house. Then the burning of his possessions. And worst of all, the destruction of the only thing that kept him alive for weeks on end. “I should’ve– I should’ve _always–_ ” 

And together they cried, each holding on to each other like they were the last things in the world, and their words dissolved into half-drawn breaths and stinging tears and the quiet agreement to never let go. 

And slowly, as their cries quieted and the music faded back into the low lullabies of a hundred thousand crickets, the moon rose softly into the sky and, like a mother to sons finally returned home, shone a cool, white blanket over the two of them.


End file.
